I keep tapping my foot
Keep walking back and forth
And looking out the window
The minutes become hours
The hours become days, weeks, years
And every day I talk to myself a bit louder

There's dust there at the windowsill
It has a print of my hand on it
Maybe from last year
It was a full moon's night I think
I must have stood there for over an hour
Not because I was lonely
But because in the moonlight
I become lost to time

I did as well as I could.
Most of the time
I felt I might have done better.

But this well-known feeling,
my constant companion,
has always kept me
on the welcoming edge
of trying to grow
in an inward way.

Maybe with more practice I'll get there.
The journey, as they say,
is the important part.

So, like many I call family,
I'll continue to be
a traveler paying my dues,
and maybe pick up a few more
treasures along the way.

he stands on the hill
less than a man
skin rotted, feet molded
bones showing through hands

the warmth of the sun
unfelt on his skin
the blue of the sky
touches nothing within

wind gently flapping
his barely-there clothes
the face that is showing
slack in repose

the fire of motion
no longer in play
he stands calmly waiting
on the last day

a thing that has driven
his body along
isn't there any longer
last notes of the song

Taste like a smell,
Sight like a sound,
Feeling touch
So viscerally.

Sand in the sky,
Fire in my eye,
Tractor beam
Illusionary.

Pull from within,
Honestly sin,
Careless dream-
Harsh reality.

A whisper so loud,
Out in a crowd,
Singular
Ceremony.

Come baby,
Come and find me.
My darkest hour
So blinding.
Reach out
Through trouble
Daunting,
Sensation desperation,
Hold me, as if
We may never ever
Meet again.